Reliance
by Jelly Beans Galore
Summary: Berwald Oxenstierna won his Hunger Games. He no longer had to worry about the reaping. There was the odd occasion in which he had to mentor a tribute, but he could handle that. His life was almost okay. Until the day Timo Väinämöinen is reaped. Berwald wants to help Timo win. But Timo wants to help his fellow tribute win and who is Berwald to deny him anything?


**Hunger Games AU. I'll do more work on this after NaNoWriMo ends. Title may change. Short, but next chapters will be longer.**

My name is Berwald Oxenstierna and I am one of the lucky ones who won the Hunger Games.

Being from District 7, I was always semi-lucky. I mean, District 7 wasn't the best, kind of poor, but at least I hadn't been born in one of the poorer districts. It also helped that my family had managed to accumulate _some_ money over the years through our furniture business, so we were better off than some of the others who lived in our district. Still, I couldn't exactly say I was lucky. I was still from Panem, after all, and being from Panem meant I had the chance to be entered in the Hunger Games.

My luck ran out and that's what happened. I was seventeen, two years from being free forever. My name was called and I was forced to compete.

I can't lie and say it wasn't terrible, but I was still luckier than most. I only had to kill four others, although all the deaths were rather bloody. I was hailed as hero when I returned. I lived in the Victor's Village with my family, the few other victors in their own houses. I rarely spoke to them. Five years passed. I'd been a mentor for the last four, after the only other male victor passed. The remaining two were female and they preferred to switch every other year. Perhaps it wasn't fair that I had to do it every year, but I never protested. During the years that I mentored, I befriended some of the other victors, namely Erik Nilsen from District 4 and Søren Densen from District 2. From what they told me, I didn't have half as many nightmares as them, so I was lucky in that as well.

When I was home in District 7, I took consolation in watching another civilian—a very, very cute one, with blond hair and freckles. The first time I saw him, when I was eighteen, he appeared to be quite a bit younger, likely thirteen or fourteen. I didn't know his name, but he always cut through the Victor's Village to go to work, although he wasn't supposed to. Luckily, he was always early enough that no Victor but me was awake and I would never turn him in.

So the five years after my Hunger Games passed relatively peacefully. I had my family safe and fed, I had friends, and I had a cute boy to watch and hope that I'd one day work up the nerve to talk to him.

And then, on my fifth year mentoring, the worst thing I could ever have imagined happened.

When I woke up that morning, it was already light outside. Not needing to work, it was usually light outside when I woke up, but I was a light sleeper and typically the hustle and bustle of everyday life from those who did need to work woke me.

I stumbled downstairs. On a normal morning, I would have quickly grabbed a cup of coffee and hurried to the window so I could wait for the cute boy. But he wouldn't show up on reaping day, so I simply drank my coffee in the kitchen alone.

Once I'd downed a few cups of caffeine and was finally beginning to feel awake, I walked back upstairs and changed out of my pajamas. It was beginning to get pretty cold outside, so I bundled up pretty tightly. Then, being careful not to wake Mamma or Pappa, I went down the stairs and outside, into the frosty wind.

The morning of the reaping, I generally took a walk through the normal parts of town. It was a bit of silly thought, but I liked to take a look and see what the kids in the age group for the reaping could do. It wasn't likely that I would see the ones that would be the tributes, but I did it anyway. At the very least, it was a chance for me to get out of the house. I typically stayed inside because I scared people. I didn't intend to. I just . . . had the face for it. But on this day, everyone knew that I had to be out and they didn't pay me much mind.

I always started in the richer part of the district. I never took long walking through there. It wasn't likely that anyone of them would be chosen; after all, they had no reason to need tesserae. My being drawn was a fluke. But I still took a look around on the off chance that someone like me would show up.

After looking around that part of the district, I went to where the majority of the population lived. As sad as it was to admit, it was probably better that these were the ones most often chosen for the Hunger Games. These people were the ones that had strength. They knew how to use axes. They were just better suited.

As always, I prayed that it would be older kids chosen. The younger ones never won and it was always awful to send them to their deaths. I looked around and watched the few that were awake and outside play. Some of the younger kids didn't quite have a grasp of what these games meant and the older ones would often play along. Better to let them enjoy it while they have it.

I continued walking along the road and looking around when I caught sight of the cute boy. I stiffened. It would be so easy to go over there and talk to him. But I was too scared to do that. I backed up to stand by a shop window and watched him walk along with whom I had to suppose was his friend. He was laughing. He was so beautiful when he laughed.

As I watched him pass me by, I tried to work up the nerve to speak to him. I _really_ wanted to speak to him. But by the time I'd convinced myself, he was already gone. I sighed. I wondered if he was old enough that he was out of the reaping. I hoped so. I would never want to put him through what I had to go through.

I shivered in the cold weather, pulling my jacket tighter around my body and sticking my hands in my pockets. The clock rang, signaling that it was one. I decided that it was time to head back home and change for the ceremony.

When I got home, no one was there but my mother. My father was probably off somewhere. He never told us what he did. I don't think we cared anymore. Mamma wasn't too worried now. All of her children were too old to be drawn and I had won. She was comforted by that. Of course, she empathized with the families whose children might be drawn, but she herself was content. She was already dressed in her best clothes, waiting for me.

"You'd best get ready, Berwald," she said.

I nodded. I knew that. I hurried upstairs to my room and changed before hurrying back downstairs. Mamma didn't need to leave until a bit later, but, being one of the mentors, I needed to be on stage as early as possible. I hurried out the door and to the middle of town, where everything was set up and cameras were waiting.

I took my seat in one of the chairs, next to the other mentor for this year. Erzsébet Héderváry was one of the strongest people I'd ever met. It was obvious that she was going to win her Hunger Games. I always thought it was good when she mentored. She was good for making the tributes believe in themselves a little more.

Next to her sat the mayor. I rarely talked to the man. He answered questions of those in the crowd, doing anything to stay in office. I didn't think much of him.

In the final seat was District 7's escort, Miss Yekaterina Braginskaya, but she preferred to be called Katyusha. She was one of the only people from the Capitol I could stand. She was genuinely sweet. I don't think she quite understood what the Hunger Games was and how it affected us in the districts. I always tried to explain, but there wasn't much you could do under the surveillance of the Capitol.

We sat around for a while, but finally, the clock rang two and Katyusha stood. She made some speech that I never paid attention to. I scanned the crowd of boys, trying to see if the cute one was there. I'd gotten through most of it and not found him when Katyusha stepped over to the bowl with the female tributes' names, like always, and drew a slip of paper out. She called the name and a small girl ran forward. She had to be only twelve. I frowned. There was no way she would survive.

"I'll take her," Erzsébet whispered to me. I nodded. I really didn't want to have to mentor someone I knew wouldn't survive.

Katyusha then walked to the other side of the stage. She stuck her hand into the pile of names and drew out another slip.

"Timo Väinämöinen," she called.

It was silent as people shifted around to let the boy exit the crowd. We all stared when we saw him. Most everyone was semi-relieved.

He was one of the older ones, thank goodness. He had a good chance of surviving. He was attractive and had a friendly appearance, good for getting sponsors. He seemed like he had a chance over all. This consoled most.

But my heart stopped. My hands clenched, making indentions in my palms from my fingernails. This was my biggest fear.

The cute boy had been reaped.


End file.
